One More Glass
by vervainaddict
Summary: Damon decides to take a break from helping Elena with her tranformation on the eve of his birthday and have a drink
1. Chapter 1

_This is merely an introduction. Depending on the response I plan to continue writing._

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It had been a long, tedious, and exhausting week since that night. Everyone was on edge and ever since the moment he found out that Doctor Psycho had spiked Elena's IV with Damon's blood Stefan had been spiraling into an ever deepening state of brooding. Damon suspected that part of his agitation was being in a three way relationship with Elena and whatever drink she had at the moment - which was varying from blood bags, to squirrels, to the one time she'd even, "accidentally", bitten Stefan after one of their arguments. And regardless of Stefan's apparent composure Damon was certain his brother was still dealing with a lot of internal struggle. Both over his effort to pretend as if he had no issues fighting his not-quite-overcome blood addiction and his choice to let Elena choose to die in that car crash.

(While Damon could hardly feel smug in this situation he had still found a comfortably appropriate time to tell his brother I told you so.)

And now, Damon had left Stefan to tend to Elena on his own while he made a quick get away for a few moments to himself for the first time all week. Without making a conscious decision to do so, Damon found himself standing in front of the Salvatore crypt with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses in hand. As he walked in his eyes traveled over the vaguely familiar scenery. Stone coffins set into the concrete walls, vines of various species peaking through the cracks, and the stench of mildew overpowering the scent of the caretakers freshly cut grass flooding in through the open door. Damon made a mental note to tell Stefan not to let anyone bury him here, it was suffocating him even in his after life and he couldn't bare the thought of his unconscious remains being stuck here for all eternity.

Damon took a seat. His back pressed against the wall as he twisted open the bottle and filled both glasses to the brim. Leaving one where it was as he placed the other on the spot next to him where Ric had been sitting little over a week ago. If Damon sat there in the silence long enough he was sure to hear the echo of his last laugh trapped between these crumbling walls. Without effort he could recall the sound of Alaric's slowing heartbeats as well as he could recall each word that past between them in those last few moments.

'_Sorry I killed you... twice._'

He chuckled feebly at the memory, but Damon secretly regretted his half-hearted apology. It had been sincere and, truthfully, the only words he could conjure at the time but there were so many things he could say now. Like how Alaric was, without a doubt, Damon's best friend. How, regardless of everything he'd done that might show otherwise, Damon would have given his life for Ric to be able to live his.

When Damon had finally come to terms with the fact that it would always be Stefan all he had wanted was a drink with his best friend while he told him how dumb he was for chasing Elena in the first place. Now, as Damon stared into the depths of the all too familiar golden brown liquid he knew there was no going back.

Damon picked up the glass as he stared at the spot where the other remained, pursing his lips in an attempt to keep the emotions he'd built up this past week from boiling over. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke in a soft whisper. "This is to you, Ric. Where ever you are. You were a good man through and through." After a moment of silence Damon nodded as if deciding those words would do and he raised the glass to his lips, downing the burning liquid in a steady and continuous pace. As per his life long philosophy to not waste good alcohol he set down his glass and reached for the bottle, eager to drown his emotions.

As the bottle neared it's limit he tilted his head back, eyes on the ceiling, to down it all at once. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadowed figure. As his eyes darted over the sight caused him to take in a harsh breath, his glossy eyes wide as his mouth hung open in a mix of shock and fear. The only sound for the longest seconds he could recall was the crashing of the breaking bottle against the concrete floor. The shadow stepped forward, his small smile topped by his sand colored mess of hair and his dark gaze.

"I know it's your birthday and all, but leave some for the rest of us old man." Alaric said, a chuckle ringing through the silence as he stepped closer to Damon.


	2. Chapter 2 Resurection

_Authors Note: Keep in mind this is my first actual story. Most of my writing is one shots so some chapters will be very short while others may be very long. Each "chapter" will focus on a different point, though, so there is a reason why it stops where it does. I apologize if you were expecting more but I do have a general idea already where I want the story to go. If you have any hopes/ideas/theories for the story, though, feel free to include them in your review. I take my inspiration from the people around me so your idea might help to get the next chapter out. I should be adding a little bit of something at least once a week. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!_

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It could have been minutes or hours that past since Alaric had sat down beside him. He had lost all concept of when or where he was as his brain spun in dizzying circles. Once Damon had concluded that this man was, in fact, Alaric he needed a moment to process it. Aside from the rhetorical "Can I drink this?" Alaric had muttered when he reached out for the remaining glass, he hadn't so much as whispered a word. He just sat next to him as if no time had past between their last moment and now. Damon looked down at the shattered bits of the bottle on the cool ground, his eye's wanting but unwilling to look at his friend. He couldn't believe he was here. The images of that night were replaying over and over in his head like the faded frames of an old black and white movie. There were things missing among the confusion, brief glimpses of moments he hadn't thought to hold on to. He couldn't recall who struck the first blow or the last in their fight to the death. He couldn't remember how he had convinced Rebekah to run or what his first thought was when he learned that Elena would wake up in transition.

But there was one thing Damon recalled vividly - the moment Alaric Saltzman had died in his arms.

He had felt Alaric's body grow cold and still. He heard him take his final breath, and he heard it release in a faint whisper as he finally passed into the void. The only thing that comforted Damon in his passing was the knowledge that he would finally get the rest he'd deserved.

Yet here he was, sitting beside him, and drinking from the glass Damon had filled. All knowledge of the boundaries between this world and the next now completely out the window. Finally, Damon's mouth opened to speak and his eyes wandered over to meet his friend's gaze as his voice came out a harsh and accusing whisper. "What _are_ you? I mean," he motioned to the drink in Alaric's hand, "You're clearly not a ghost... or a vampire. But how can you be human? You were-"

Alaric cut him off with a chuckle. "No. I'm not human, Damon. I'm not a vampire. Not a ghost - and thank God, too, because I hear they have such a hard time with all of that unfinished business crap." Damon groaned and turned to give him his best no-bullshit-please expression, his brow furrowed and his gaze clearly annoyed. Alaric's smile faded slowly, his eyes casting themselves down as he sat his glass between them. "I'm a Guardian, Damon. Basically, a guardian angel."

Damon's eyebrows curved up, exasperation and confusion clear on his face. "A what? An Angel? You've killed vampires, had sex out of wedlock, and I'm pretty sure the only thing you've gone to religiously is the bar. Come on, Ric, you're about as likely to be an angel as I am a virgin." Damon let out a sarcastic empty laugh, shaking his head as he looked away from his friend and sinking back into the shadow cast by the sliver of moonlight leaking in from the open door. His disbelief and confusion hidden in the cover of the dark.

Alaric continued despite Damon's reluctance. "There are vampires who don't drink from humans, werewolves who don't shift during the full moon, and witches who don't use magic but angels can't have a drink once in a while? I understand it's hard to believe but we don't have time for you to go through one of your many internal struggles. I'm here to help because, _yet again_, you're all in a lot of trouble."

"Who exactly classifies as '_you_' in this?" Damon asked hesitantly.

Alaric sighed and held up his hand as if to count out loud. "You. Stefan, Tyler, Caroline," then he sighed, moving his gaze back to Damon. "and Elena."

Damon huffed, reaching out and pulling the glass from Alaric's grip. "What makes you think I care? She's Stefan's problem now." He gave a shrug as if to play off his clear emphasis of her name as he began to down the glass at a much quicker pace.

"Really?" Alaric's eyebrows rose before he pushed himself off the floor, standing up and dusting himself off. "You and I both know that's a load of bull. Not only did everyone know you loved her before I died, but I've been watching you up there. You're not fooling anyone so cut the crap. No more lies, remember?"

Damon nodded as he set the glass down, copying Alaric and standing up to meet his height, his lips pursed in annoyance. "Right. Well, all of that 'I'm your only friend' crap sort of ended when you _almost killed me_. Pretty sure that qualifies as the end of our relationship. So go talk to Stefan about saving everyone's ass. I'm not the hero."

Alaric rolled his eyes. "Well, this isn't exactly your choice. Whether you like it or not - whether you trust me or not - I am here for you not Stefan."

And that was all it took. Damon shoved past him, opening the door and storming into the moonlight. Before he could decide where to go he felt Alaric's hand on his wrist and he was unable to pull from his grasp. Damon turned, his fangs bared as his eyes, glossed over from either the alcohol settling in his system or held back tears, darkened as he struggled against his hold. His voice came out a low growl. "What_ the hell_ do you want me to do?"

Alaric's dark eyes grew kind and sympathetic, his lips forming a straight line as his grip fell from Damon's wrist. "It's Klaus. They sent me to help you resurrect him."

Damon took in a heavy breath, his mouth contorting into a cringe of disgust at the idea of it. He didn't knew what angered him more. That he had believed his biggest issue was helping Elena through the transition, that he had thought they were rid of Klaus once and for all, or that they had spent so much time trying to fight an evil that they could never get rid of. Damon shook his head, spitting out each word as he closed the distance between the two of them. "Klaus is gone and I don't care what they think is right because I am not dealing with him again."

"He's not gone, Damon."

"You killed him, _oh holy one_, so if he's not dead where is he?" he spat, sarcasm leaking back into his voice.

Alaric shook his head again. "I can't tell you that. All I can do is help guide your way. However, I can tell you that the people Elena thinks are her friends are keeping a lot of secrets from her right now and you need to be the one to find them out."

"Once again," Damon took a step back, holding up his hands as he exaggerated each word. "Talk. To. Stefan. He's the one who does your homework assignments, Ric, not me."

As Damon turned away and continued to walk Ric shouted out after him. "Don't be a dick. You can't walk away from destiny." But he didn't turn around. There was no smart response or annoyed glare. Instead, he ran. He didn't stop until he reached his destination where he found Elena and Stefan standing in the yard and talking in hushed voices.


End file.
